


Searching for Stanford Pines

by MiniatureGlitterSoul



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: As of April 18 I am turning this into a multi-chapter fic, Bill Cipher is a Jerk, Gen, I wrote this last week, Poor Ford, So we'll see where this goes, and now I'm pretty proud that this is kind of canon, because I have some fun ideas about Portal!Ford, before Alex talked about Bill searching for Ford in other dimensions, just saying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6582469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniatureGlitterSoul/pseuds/MiniatureGlitterSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill Cipher discovers that his puppet Stanford Pines has left the third dimension--so how did he manage to leave undetected? And, more importantly, where in the multiverse is he now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Bill Cipher did not know where Stanford Pines was, and Bill Cipher did not like not knowing. 

One day, the six-fingered genius had been pacing around his old shack of a house, paranoid and trembling. The next he’d completely fallen off Bill’s radar–-which was just rude, really. Didn’t his mother ever teach him that it wasn’t polite to leave a party without thanking the host? Who did Stanford Pines think he was?

So now Bill was left wondering–-which was something he disliked almost as much as not knowing. “Wondering” was so…fuzzy. People wondered things all the time-–they wonder what to wear, what to eat, what the next ten years hold-–stupid, petty, small-minded things. 

Stanford Pines had wondered bigger things, more powerful things. That’s how Bill had found him in the first place. Stanford’s wonderings led to dangerous, terrifying places-–and that was the only sort of wondering Bill liked. 

He did  _not_  like wondering where Stanford was. He did  _not_  like wondering how Stanford had disappeared. These were small wonderings-–petty wonderings focused on a single person. He had better things to do than wonder about Stanford Pines. 

After all, it wasn’t like Stanford was his only way into Gravity Falls-–he just happened to be the most convenient. (A little less convenient after he installed that metal plate in his head, but Bill did admire his dedication.) There were countless other people who could fall for Bill’s flattery, dozens he could trick, a few who’d be willing to give up anything for one of his deals… But only one who actually knew how to summon him. 

Stanford Pines. 

Only one who could open that portal. 

_Stanford Pines._

Only one who knew what Bill was capable of. 

_Stanford Pines…_

Only one who could stop him. 

_Stanford Pines!_

And now he was missing. _How is he missing?_  Now he had disappeared.  _Where did he go??_  Now the portal was off and Bill’s only link to Gravity Falls had vanished. 

_STANFORD PINES!!_

Bill stared down at Gravity Falls, his gateway to a better dimension, with no way of getting back there. He had already tried to go back-–and that’s how he knew Stanford was missing. He couldn’t return to a place if the person who originally summoned him was no longer there. Those were the rules.  _Stupid, idiotic rules…_  So, since Bill couldn’t get back, that meant Stanford had left. 

“Maybe he moved?” 8-Ball offered, when Bill absently mentioned his predicament. 

“Moved? MOVED?” Bill roared. “The man is too paranoid to leave his own house! How the heck would he  _MOVE_??" 

But still, Bill did his best to scout out the planet from his own decaying dimension. It was difficult, and it took a while, but now he could now say for certain that Stanford Pines was no longer on Earth. 

"Maybe he’s dead?” Pyronica said when Bill voiced his frustrations. 

“Dead?” Bill echoed. He hadn’t considered that. He’d have to pull a few strings to find out for sure… 

But Stanford Pines was worth the trouble. 

“Not dead!” Bill proclaimed a week later.

Xanthar looked up from the table, his faceless-face looking as confused as he could manage. “Huh?” he grunted. 

Bill sighed. He realized, not for the first time, that he hung out with a bunch of morons. 

“Stanford Pines,” Bill began. “He’s not dead. Nobody can find his soul anywhere, which means it’s still in his body somewhere." 

"Wow, what’d you have to do to find that information?” Pyronica asked, smiling.

“Eh, just say enough nice stuff about Hades to Persephone so she’d head back home a few months early.” Bill shrugged, trying to play it off like it had been easy. In reality, it had been really, really hard to not just crack a bunch of jokes about how bad Hades smelled.

“So, he’s not dead, but he’s not on Earth…” Teeth mumbled--he _always_ mumbled.

“Yes, thank you for the recap, Teeth,” Bill rolled his eye.

“So, he’s just some place else,” Pyronica said with a shrug.

“But that’s not  _possible!_ ” Bill raged, and the room around him grew smaller.

“But didn’t you say he was building a portal?” 

The room suddenly got a lot bigger.

“A cross-dimensional portal…” Bill murmured.

“Isn’t it possible that he could have gone through?” Pyronica continued.

Bill realized, for the first time, that he didn’t hang out with  _total_  morons.

“That’s  _it!”_ he yelled, shooting up into the air. “Ah, the answer! That has to be the answer!“ he spun and twirled, filled with a new sense of glee. “I don’t know  _why_  he would have done it, but he must have! Oh, this is so  _brilliant!_ Haha!”

“But, you still don’t know where he is,” Teeth piped up.

“True,” Bill said, bringing himself back down to his friends’ level. “But I do have a lot of people who would be willing to  _look_ …”

And with that, the hunt for Stanford Pines began.


	2. Space Oddity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford Pines finds himself on the other side of the portal.

> _Ground Control to Major Tom..._
> 
> _Ground Control to Major Tom..._

* * *

_“Stanley--Stanley! Do something! STANLEY!”_

Everything was gray--a sort of gray like stagnant, murky water. He hadn’t hit a solid surface yet--maybe it  _was_  murky water. Maybe that’s all that was on the other side of the portal.

_Maybe this is what the end of the world looks like._

But then there was a flash, and Stanford Pines knew it wasn’t the end of the world--but he wondered if it was the end of his life. He had expected death to hurt more, because he’d always imagined it at the hands of some horrible monster.

_THUD._

He landed hard on his back, and pain shot all throughout his body.  _That’s more like it,_  he thought, trying to inhale again. He opened his eyes. The world was still gray--still murky--but not so dense now. Now he could see shapes, as if he was looking through a very heavy fog. There were lights, too--red and orange and yellow lights, all of them surrounded by a soft haze that did nothing to make them seem less intimidating. 

But these were all in the distance. Around him he saw only rocks and pebbles. The ground below was hard and cracked and rough. He stood up, and his body felt lighter here. He jumped.

And he floated.

It was only for a second, but it was significantly longer than a jump on Earth would last. He chuckled and jumped again, higher this time. He hung in the air even longer. 

“Fascinating!” he said aloud. He reached into his coat to pull out a journal and pen--then he remembered he didn’t have anymore journals.

He remembered that he had hid two and thrown the last one to his brother before--

He turned in a circle. There was no sign of life anywhere near him--but the lights and the shapes in the distance looked promising. He took a step then stopped. 

Fiddleford had been in this dimension before--more or less. He had left this dimension mentally and emotionally scarred. He had seen something here--something horrific--something involving Bill.

Ford had to be careful. He had no idea where he was, no idea how to survive, and no idea how to get home--or if there was even a way to get home. 

_Home..._

He shook his head. He couldn’t waste time being sentimental. He had questions to answer, problems to solve, and a certain triangle to obliterate.

So he started walking, heading towards the lights and the shapes in the distance. He made a mental list of how this place looked, sounded, smelled. He wondered how his body would adjust to the difference in gravity, if the haze in the air was some kind of pollution, what sort of people lived here--if any.

It was a lot to think over, but formulating questions calmed him. It helped him see the world more scientifically--more objectively--with less emotion.

Finally, the fuzzy shapes in the distance became the fuzzy outlines of buildings. No two were shaped the same, and the closest thing Ford could think of to compare them to was a dark and twisted Dr. Seuss book. Some spiraled into the sky, brightly lit signs (in a language Ford did not know) affixed to them at odd angles. Others were short, tilted to one side or the other, with rounded roofs. 

He was sure, looking at all these buildings, that this must be some kind of town. But not a soul stirred anywhere around him. He began walking past the buildings, and while the signs above glowed red, no lights could be seen inside. Finally, he knocked on a door.

There was no answer.

“Hello?” Ford said, knocking again. He doubted these people would know English, but it was worth a shot.

There was a shuffling sound inside, but the door didn’t open, so Ford knocked again.

“Hello--” he began to knock once more when the door suddenly flew open. He stumbled backwards and fell to the ground. He looked up to see a dark purple being standing above him, a crossbow-like weapon in its hands.

Ford suddenly understood how Stanley had felt.

The purple being hissed something at him, and Ford instinctively put his hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry--” he began. “I was just wondering if anybody was home--”

The creature squinted its eyes at him. Ford squinted back, trying to make out its face. He realized suddenly that he had lost his glasses.

Then the creature hissed a word he understood.

_“Cipher?”_

Ford’s eyes widened.

“You know Bill Cipher?” he asked, lowering his voice and sitting up.

“Sssssshhhhh!” the being hissed, pressing the crossbow against Ford’s chest.

“No, no! I’m not him! I don’t work for him! Please! Look into my eyes!” Ford cried, falling back to the ground again.

The creature narrowed its eyes to the point that they were nothing more than slits. It bent over Stanford, staring directly into his eyes, pressing the point of the arrow into his chest. He swallowed hard.

Finally, the being pulled the crossbow back. It stepped away from Ford, still cradling the crossbow defensively, but now looking around. Ford sat up again, watching the creature carefully. It glanced back at Ford, seemed to contemplate him for a moment, then turned sharply and stepped back towards the house. With a nod of its head, it motioned for Ford to follow. He scrambled to his feet then followed the creature through the door.

Inside, the building was pitch black. Ford stood there for a moment with no idea in which direction he should move, wondering if this had been a very bad idea. Suddenly, he felt a cold hand clasping his own and he was pulled forward. He was led three steps forward, turned right, and pulled ahead another three steps. Then, he heard a scraping sound, and he was led to sit in a chair. He felt a table in front of him, and he brushed his hands across it. It was rough, but not like wood. More like...rusted metal? He wished he could see it to know for sure.

Before he could think too long about this, a warm, round object was being pushed into his hands. He didn’t know what it was. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it.

He was sure he heard a sigh.

The object was taken away from him, but suddenly it was at his lips. He jerked his head away, panicking--was he being poisoned? Had he survived the crossbow just to walk into another trap? He pushed the chair back, but there was a hand at the back of his head, holding him there, and he felt the object tipping and a liquid running down his face and his shirt, but he wouldn’t open his mouth, he wouldn’t die like this--

There was an angry hissing sound, then a loud  _thunk_  after the liquid had all run down Ford’s chest. He sat in the chair, panting, heart racing. He wanted his legs to move, to get him out of this house, but for some reason they wouldn’t obey him. 

_Neurotoxin?_  he wondered, clenching his hands into fists just to make sure they were still working. He was sure he hadn’t ingested any of the stuff, but perhaps it only needed to contact his skin--

There was more angry hissing, and Ford could hear the creature shuffling around. Finally, a soft orange glow filled the room. The creature was on the other side of the table, holding a stone as big as its hand. The stone seemed to be the light source. The creature set the stone on the table--rather aggressively--then turned and walked over to a metal box against the wall. Ford watched as the creature prepared a cup of what appeared to be tea...but it couldn’t be tea. Not here. Could it?

The creature, holding a steaming stone cup, turned to Ford. Staring at him with narrowed eyes, it quickly took a drink. Then, still glaring, it shoved the cup at Ford. He stared at it for a moment, then up at the creature. 

The creature growled.

Ford took the cup then, and very slowly raised it to his lips. He inhaled--he didn’t know if it was the contents of the cup that smelled earthy or the cup itself. He exhaled-- _any enemy of Bill’s is a friend of mine,_  he thought, then drank.

The liquid was sweet, but tasted like dirt--literally. He coughed a little after finishing it. He held the cup out to the creature, who swiped it out of his hand and turned away.

“Thank you,” Ford mumbled. He felt his cheeks grow warm, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the alien-tea or from embarrassment at having rejected the first cup. 

The being turned to look at him again. It tilted its head to the side, its eyes traveling from his face to his feet. It turned away.

“I’m Ford, by the way,” he said, and immediately felt like an idiot. This thing obviously couldn’t speak English--it wouldn’t have any idea what he was saying.

Sure enough, the creature looked at him over its shoulder, eyes squinted.

Ford cleared his throat. He put a hand on his chest (which was still wet from the tea he had refused to drink).

“Ford,” he said.

The creature tilted its head. Then, much to Ford’s surprise, it put its hand on its own chest.

“Zarephath,” it said in its hissing voice.

Ford felt his face break into a grin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not know how long this story will go on, but I have ideas and wanted to write them, so here we go!


	3. People Are Strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford and his alien companion Zarephath are forced to flee, and they meet some new creatures along the way.

> _When you’re strange, faces come out of the rain._
> 
> _When you’re strange, no one remembers your name._

* * *

 

Ford and Zarephath lived in silent darkness for what felt like a week. Ford couldn’t know for sure how long it was, as he had no idea how time progressed here--but he knew it was long enough for Zarephath to sleep uneasily seven times. He took those periods of rest for night, and did his best to sleep as well.

But he couldn’t--not for long, anyway. The nightmares that had plagued him at home had followed him here, and he woke Zarephath with his screaming more than once.

It was after the seventh sleep that things changed. Ford was sitting at the rough table, waiting for the familiar stone cup to be placed in his hands. Zarephath only lit the glowing stone in cases of extreme necessity--generally to show Ford where or what something was. At all other times, the house remained as dark as night, and he was forced to rely on Zarephath to lead him from one room to another and take care of his most basic needs--namely food and drink.

He had begun to consider what options he had here--if he could leave this place and survive a week, if he’d be able to figure out a way to get back home, if he could find Bill and end him--when the world outside exploded in a flash of light. Ford looked out the window, blinking in the sudden brightness, then turned to look at Zarephath. 

He could very clearly see the alien’s look of terror.

He opened his mouth to speak--forgetting that they could hardly communicate verbally--but Zarephath waved a dark purple hand through the air, still staring out the window. Ford’s eyebrows drew closer together. Not taking its eyes off the window, Zarephath stepped forward slowly, then reached out and took Ford’s hands. Zarephath drew him out of the chair, moving at a snail’s pace, then led him out of the kitchen. 

As soon as they were in the windowless hallway, Zarephath ran.

The alien grabbed a box that was sitting by the back door (a door Ford had not realized existed), then opened the door a crack and peeked out. Then, reaching back to grab Ford’s hand again, Zarephath sprinted outside. Ford stumbled along behind, but quickly got his feet under him and broke into a run. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that the sky was alight with bright colors flashing and swinging back and forth. It reminded him of spotlights, but they didn’t seem to be searching for anyone--

It looked a lot more like a party.

And then, silhouetted against the bright lights, he saw the dark shapes of enormous creatures--some looked like nothing more than basic shapes, while others looked like the monsters from his nightmares.

“Bill,” Ford whispered, then stopped.

Zarephath let out a little hiss, but Ford didn’t turn away from the lights. He stared up at the sky, waiting for the triangle to show himself. Zarephath tugged on his arm, but Ford refused to move. He clenched his fists at his sides. He was going to end this, right here, right now--

Zarephath tugged hard enough that Ford fell to the side. He turned with a glare and opened his mouth to say something he knew Zarephath wouldn’t understand when something suddenly zoomed over him. His mouth dropped open as a floating vehicle stopped a short distance away. Its driver wore a thick black coat, a long scarf pulled up over the lower half of its face, and large goggles. The driver pulled the scarf away to reveal a snout like a wolf’s. 

“You two need a ride?” the driver asked, and Ford gasped.

“You speak English!” he cried.

“Universal translator, kid!” the driver called over the sudden sound of screaming.

Ford turned to look towards the little town. Flames were rising from some of the buildings. He turned to Zarephath. His friend was sitting on the ground, one hand still holding onto Ford, the other clutching the box to its chest.

“Now or never, you two!” the driver called and pulled the scarf back over its snout. 

Ford helped Zarephath up, then led it to the floating vehicle. He couldn’t face Bill now--he had no weapons, no plan--and Zarephath was going to need his help now. So, the two of them climbed up on the back of the craft and held on.

* * *

 

Ford didn’t know how long the trip was, but it felt like it took an eternity. The screams and lights and flames faded into the hazy distance behind them, and before them stretched nothing but the bare rocky ground. Zarephath sat beside him on the back of what Ford could only describe as a large floating scooter. For the first time Ford was able to clearly take in Zarephath’s features--bright green eyes set in the small purple face, no discernible nose (save for a small bump between the eyes), a tiny mouth, and no hair atop its head. He couldn’t tell if Zarephath was male or female--or if there were any genders at all here, really. And, despite the lack of clothing over the purple body, he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out without being told. Zarephath wasn’t some animal--it was a sentient being, probably with more sense than he had. However, he could tell that Zarephath had been living on alien-tea for quite some time. He could see the clear outline of bones beneath the skin, and Zarephath’s arm’s and legs were thin.

Zarephath didn’t seem to mind Ford’s scrutiny. In fact, he wasn’t sure Zarephath noticed him at all. The green eyes stayed fixed on the horizon behind him, as if they could still see the burning buildings. Ford wondered if there had been others of Zarephath’s kind living there--and then he remembered the screams and decided there must have been. He wondered if any of them were Zarephath’s family.

He wondered if any of them made it out alive.

Finally, the floating scooter came to a stop. The sky had grown dark now, and Ford couldn’t see much beyond his alien companion. Their driver stepped down and Ford heard its voice, speaking in hushed tones, with one deeper and more gravelly. He squinted through the darkness but could only see two fuzzy outlines. 

“Well, don’t just sit there!” the driver’s voice called to them. 

Ford saw a hand wave through the air. He stood up, but Zarephath did not seem inclined to move. Ford gently wrapped his hand around Zarephath’s arm, pulling the purple creature up and off of the vehicle. Then, very slowly, the two of them walked over to the others.

“Here,” the driver said as the two of them approached. It held out a gloved hand, with two blinking devices on its palm. “Put it in your ear,” the driver instructed.

Ford did as he was told, casting a glance and the other figure. It was difficult to discern much in the dark, save that this one was very round. Zarephath took one of the devices as well, slipping it into a little hole in the side of its head.

“There, now you’ll both be able to understand us and we’ll all be able to understand the two of you!” the driver said, placing its hands on its hips.

Ford made a mental note to ask how these worked at a later date--for now there were more important questions to ask.

“Where are we?” he asked, squinting around.

“Ah, ah, ah! Introductions first!” the round creature said. “I’ll begin--I’m Captain Eleazar of the good ship Adstrum, and this is my first mate Demona.”

“ _Lady_  Demona,” the driver said, her snout breaking open in a grin. Her sharp teeth glinted in the dying light.

“And you two are?” Captain Eleazar asked.

“Zarephath, daughter of Elihu,” Zarephath said. Her voice was still hissing, but Ford could understand her words now.

“And I’m Ford,” he said simply, quickly.

“No title? No relations?” Captain Eleazar said.

“Well, I do have a couple PHDs, so I suppose you could call me Doctor Ford--”

“A doctor!” the captain cried. “Excellent! We’ve been in need of one of those!”

“Well, uh--I don’t think--”

“And what about you?” Captain Eleazar continued on, turning to Zarephath. “What shall we do with you?”

“Do you have need of a cook?” she asked in return. Her voice sounded defeated and lifeless. Ford wondered if that was how it always sounded.

“A couple of extra hands in the kitchen will always be appreciated--especially if it keeps Demona from cooking!” he laughed a little, and Demona gave him a hard shove. “Now, come, come! Out of the dark and the cold! It is a dangerous world tonight, and we would not want to be spotted by The Eye...” his voice trailed off and he looked up at the dark sky. Then, quite suddenly, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Demona motioned for Ford and Zarephath to follow as she began to walk away. Zarephath reached out and took Ford’s hand, and Ford realized she was trembling.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “We’ll be fine--they seem nice.”

Zarephath let out a little sound that Ford could only assume was a laugh.

“You are so new here,” she said. “Like a child barely born. You will learn soon enough, though, that the greatest evil is The Eye, but there are many smaller evils besides. If we live long enough, perhaps we shall become one of them.”

Ford stared at her, his eyebrows drawn close together and his mouth half-open. 

“Even though I know the words you’re saying,” he said, “I still don’t understand them.”

She let out another laugh.

“Children do not always understand their parents,” she said, “but eventually they grow. You will grow too, if we do not die first.”

Ford sighed. He turned away from Zarephath, looking ahead, wondering what was coming and what they had gotten themselves into. Before them grew a new shape--an enormous shape--and as they neared it he realized what it was.

A spaceship.


	4. Mr. Roboto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford puts his medical skills to good use.

> _I'm not a hero, I'm not the savior, forget what you know._   
>  _I'm just a man whose circumstances went beyond his control._

The first thing Ford was given upon boarding the spaceship Adstrum was a watch. It had four hands, but no numbers. In their place were circles of different sizes and colors, some of which occasionally moved. He had no idea how to read it.

The second thing Ford was given upon boarding the spaceship Adstrum was a gun. It had a short, round barrel and no bullets. Demona showed him that, instead, it fired a beam of energy, much like a Star Trek phaser. He had no idea how to shoot it.

The third thing Ford was given upon boarding the spaceship Adstrum was a job. It involved a green creature that was so lanky it must have been all bones. There was a long cut in one of it’s six arms, and Ford was told with a reassuring pat to sew it up. Demona handed Ford a metal tin, her yellow eyes glinting with a mischievous grin.

Needless to say, he had no idea what he was doing.

“So, um,” he began, looking at the creature. It wore a loose brown tunic with a belt cinched tight around its waist. On the belt hung an assortment of weapons. Ford swallowed hard.

“What? You never seen a Dissostiaran before?” the creature said, its voice high and loud.

“Well, no, actually--” Ford stuttered. 

“Yeah, well, I never seen one of you before, so quit starin’ and get stitchin’!” the creature said, holding its injured arm out to Ford.

“Yes, Mister--ah, Miss--”

“He’s a male,” Zarephath said softly from her place beside Ford. “You can tell by his coloring and his size.”

“Hey, who asked you?” the Dissostiaran said, squinting its bulbous eyes at Zarephath.

“Now, now, sir, no need to be so rude. She’s just assisting me,” Ford said, stepping between the two aliens. He tried to control the shake in his voice. “Now, shall we introduce ourselves like civilized people? Or are we going to continue yelling?” he opened up the tin Demona had given him and found an assortment of medical supplies, some he recognized and others he didn’t.

He was grateful he at least knew how to put in stitches--he’d stitched himself up multiple times, most recently when installing that metal plate-- _it should be easier to perform the task on another body._

“Hazor,” the green being mumbled.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Hazor. I’m Doctor Ford,” he turned to Zarephath. “Do you think you could find something to sterilize this equipment with--or clean the wound?”

She nodded then turned and disappeared out the doorway Demona and Captain Eleazar had left through earlier. Ford and Hazor waited for a moment in silence. Ford attempted to entertain himself by squinting around the room, but it was difficult to see much without his glasses--and it didn’t look like there was much to see, anyway--just metal walls (rusting in places), the table Hazor was sitting on, and a scattering of garbage in the corners.

“So, what do you do aboard the ship?” Ford finally asked.

“Clean the guns, repair the exterior cannons when necessary, reach tall objects...”

“Oh...are there lots of guns...?”

Hazor laughed.

“You never been on a ship like this, huh?” he asked, his eyes squinted and a smile stretching across his mouth. The expression was unnerving, and Ford found himself automatically pulling away.

“Uh, no,” Ford said. He cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders, hoping these creatures couldn’t smell fear the way animals and anomalies could.

“Well, we got a lotta guns--cuz the people we go against have a lotta guns, and in a firefight, the person with the best aim and the most guns wins,” Hazor said, then leaned in closer and dropped his voice down to a whisper. “You don’t wanna lose.”

Ford swallowed hard. Thankfully, Zarephath returned, holding a bottle of clear liquid.

“This was all they had,” she said, handing the bottle to Ford. 

He pulled out the cork stopper (was it cork? he wasn’t sure) and sniffed. Whatever was in the bottle, it definitely reeked like alcohol--strong alcohol. 

“This should suffice,” he said, taking the cloth out of the tin and getting it wet. He wiped the needle with it, then the thread, then held the bottle over Hazor’s arm. “Now, try not to move,” he said softly, then poured some of the liquid over Hazor’s wound.

The alien let out a cry.

“Yes, probably should have warned you about that,” Ford mumbled. “Apologies...” Then, working as quickly as he could, he sewed up the alien’s arm. He heard Hazor grunt, as if holding in another cry, but didn’t look up from his work. His hands were shaking too much to begin with, and he knew looking at his patient wouldn’t help.

Finally, he finished.  _And not a bad job,_  he thought, looking over his handiwork and smiling to himself. He looked up at Hazor--and saw that Zarephath was standing beside him, holding one of his hands. Hazor’s thin lips were pressed tightly together, and he was scowling down at the stitches in his arm. His breathing was heavy.

“Are you all right?” Ford asked.

“Yeah--yeah,” Hazor nodded, though the words came out sounding squeaky. “I’ll be fine now. Thanks, Doc.”

Ford smiled a little.

“My pleasure, Hazor,” he said.

Ford closed up the tin and Zarephath patted the top of Hazor’s hand. The green alien gave her a nod then let go. Ford and Zarephath turned to leave the room as Hazor stood up, heading in the opposite direction. Ford had to stop and stare, because he hadn’t noticed just how long Hazor’s legs were when he had been sitting down. Standing, the green alien’s head brushed against the ceiling, and he had to bend over to get through the doorway. 

Ford didn’t realize his mouth was hanging open until Zarephath reached over and pushed it closed. He turned to her, surprised, and saw that she was smiling.

“Come along, little one,” she said, taking him by the elbow and leading him out the door.

“Incredible...” Ford breathed.

Zarephath laughed--a proper laugh this time.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, scowling at her.

“You are,” she said, looking back at him. They were walking down a hallway now, and her green eyes seemed to glow in the dim lighting. “You are so easily distracted by things that are new--and everything is new to you!”

“Well, is that such a bad thing?”

“No, it is not--or it will not be, as long as you keep your head and do not let the distractions deceive you.”

Ford felt his expression harden. He looked down at the floor, but didn’t see it. He saw instead a floating yellow triangle.

“I don’t think I’ll be so easily deceived again,” he muttered.

Zarephath sighed.

“Yes, that is what we all like to think...”

Ford stopped walking. Zarephath turned to look back at him, her eyes a little taller than usual. It was at that moment that Ford realized she didn’t have eyebrows. He scowled-- _focus_.

“I’m going to kill Bill Cipher,” he whispered. He didn’t know why he was telling her this--he didn’t think it was a very good idea. But he had to say it aloud. He had to make it official. He needed a witness.

Zarephath stared at him for a moment, her expression unchanging. Her eyes stayed locked with his, and he felt suddenly as if she was searching him, seeing every memory he had buried and hidden away. He wanted to look away from her, but the feeling passed as quickly as it had come, and he felt silly for feeling it at all.

“I think you will try,” she said softly. “But I do hope you’ll reconsider.”

With that, she turned and continued down the hallway, gently pulling Ford along behind her. He stared at the back of her head, wondering what she knew and what she had seen--

Wondering what she was seeing now.


	5. Long Cool Woman (In A Black Dress)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford begins to realize what life aboard the Adstrum is really going to be like--and he goes to a fancy party.

> _Suddenly we hear the sirens,_  
>  _Everybody started to run,  
> _ _Jumping under doors and tables--  
> _ _Well, I heard somebody shooting a gun._

Ford finally figured out how to use his new watch--or rather, Demona finally explained it--and he spent hours watching the little planets around the edge switching places and swirling around. There wasn’t much else to do here. The first week aboard the  _Adstrum_  was quiet, and he and Zarephath spent most of their time in the kitchen. Demona gave them a tour of the ship, showed them their rooms, and introduced them to some of the crew, but Ford knew from the start that he wouldn't fit in here. He wouldn't know how to talk to these people, even though he could understand their words. So, he hid himself away, taking comfort in the smell of Zarephath's cooking. Though the smells were always strange and foreign, there was something about the process that reminded him of home--of his mother--of a time before everything fell apart. He thought about that time often now. He kept an old photograph in a pocket that was closer to his heart.

But he should have known that life on this side of the portal wouldn't be calm for long. At the end of the week, Demona and Captain Eleazar came down to the kitchen--which was, in itself, disturbing. Neither of them had entered it since Zarephath had come on as cook, and Ford got the feeling that both the captain and his first mate thought the room (and those inside it) beneath them. 

"How do you like the ship?" Captain Eleazar asked. 

Ford hadn't known the man long, but he knew a forced smile when he saw one.   

"It's very nice," Ford said, though he didn't have anything to compare it to, and he sometimes wondered if rust was the only thing holding it together. 

There was a moment of silence--painful silence. Ford's fists clenched at his sides. Captain Eleazar glanced at Demona. Zarephath stopped stirring her soup. Out of the corner of his eye, Ford saw her reach for a knife.

“We have a job,” Demona said suddenly.

Ford’s shoulders relaxed, and he heard Zarephath slicing some sort of vegetable, though not as fast as she usually worked.

“Does someone else need stitches?” Ford asked, looking between Demona and the captain.

“No--not yet, anyway,” Demona added the last bit in a mumble. She sighed, then continued. “There’s a party, and I need a partner.”

“I...don’t understand...” Ford glanced back at Zarephath.

She was watching her knife.

“The host has seen everybody else aboard this ship--I need somebody that he won’t recognize. That leaves the pool at you two, and--no offense, Zarephath, but your look doesn’t fit the part.”

Zarephath dumped the vegetable slices into the soup pot, her lips pressed tight together. Ford turned back to Demona.

“So, what you’re saying is you just need somebody to dress up and stand next to you while  _you_  do stuff?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Basically, yes,” Demona said with a shrug.

“As enticing as that sounds,” Ford said, not meaning a word, “I’m not really sure these qualify as party clothes.” He tugged at his shirt. It had been white once, but it was more beige now.

“Right you are,” Captain Eleazar said. He tossed a bundle of clothes to Ford, who caught them--clumsily.

Demona sighed.

“Meet me on the top deck in two hours,” she said, turning to leave. “And do something with your hair!”

Captain Eleazar smiled, nodded to Ford and Zarephath, then turned and followed his first mate out of the kitchen. Ford looked down at the clothes in his hand--they were all black, and he wondered if they were going to a party or a funeral.

“Well, that was...interesting...” he finally said, turning to face Zarephath. He was surprised to see how angry she looked. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It was only a matter of time,” she hissed. She spun around, grabbed some sort of root vegetable from the counter behind her, then slammed it down on the counter in front of Ford. She swung her knife through the air and cut the root clean in half. The knife lodged itself in the wooden counter.

“What was only a matter of time?” Ford said. He didn’t often voice it, but he always felt confused here--sometimes he even felt stupid. It wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed.

“They’re pirates, Ford!” Zarephath tossed her hands up in the air. “ _We’re_  pirates! You’re going to a party--a party full of rich people, to steal or kill or kidnap--” she wrenched her knife up out of the countertop. “Nothing but evil--and here we are, a part of it.”

“I--I’m sure it won’t be that bad--” Ford stuttered. “I mean--it’s just a party--maybe it’s for fun?”

“Then why would she take you? Hm? It is not because she  _likes_  you. She takes you because she can take no one else--and she hates you just a bit less than she hates me.”

“She doesn’t  _hate_  us--”

“You are so naive.” Zarephath shook her head. She chopped the root, slowly and methodically now. 

“I am not,” Ford muttered. 

But he knew he was. He knew these people weren’t “good people”--he knew liars and cheats, because he’d lived with liars and cheats before, and he knew he was living with them now. 

Maybe he just  _hoped_  that they wouldn’t be so bad.

“You should go get ready,” Zarephath said. “And you should learn how to fire that gun.”

* * *

 

“Stop tugging at your collar,” Demona mumbled, looking out the window.

Ford pulled his hand away from his neck. He was used to collared shirts, but the turtleneck was a bit much--and, underneath the black coat Demona had forced him to wear, he was boiling. Not to mention he was nervous, which always made him sweat--

“I said, stop tugging at your collar!” 

“I’m sorry!” Ford said. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “How much longer until we get there?”

“Any minute now,” Demona said. She adjusted her bracelets. 

The two of them were in a carriage--and the sight of it had shocked Ford enough that Demona elbowed him hard in the ribs. The carriage was pulled by two ornately-dressed animals, covered in so much metal and cloth that Ford couldn’t even tell what they looked like, except that their shapes vaguely resembled that of horses. The driver had given Demona a deep bow before opening the carriage door, and Ford wondered why. He remembered that she had called herself “Lady Demona” when they were first introduced, but what sort of Lady goes galavanting with space pirates?

The carriage slowed to a stop, and Ford peered out the window. He could see lights in the distance--dozens and dozens of lights. They were windows in some giant building. 

“Is that a castle?” he whispered.

“Yes, don’t gawk,” Demona said quickly. 

The carriage door swung upon. Ford jumped. Demona sighed. He scowled then stepped out onto the ground. She cleared her throat. Ford turned to look at her and saw that she was holding out her hand. He reached back and helped her down. She linked her arm in his and they walked towards the lights.

* * *

 

Demona had told him not to gawk, but Ford couldn’t help it. The party was extravagant--and the guests came in so many colors and sizes, with so many arms and legs (or no legs at all!), that he couldn’t stop gawking, now matter how many times she scolded him.

“Doc,” she said, sounding tired. “Please, do me a favor and just keep your eyes on me.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just--”

“New, I know,” Demona said. 

Ford turned his eyes towards her. The two of them were standing on a balcony, away from the main party, and she was leaning against the railing, facing the darkness. He’d already squinted at her many times (he still hadn’t gotten new glasses), but he didn’t have a word to describe her. “Unusual” might be the best one he could think of. She wore a black dress--sleeveless, but with a long train connected at the shoulders. Black gloves reached to her elbows, and white jewels sparkled on her wrists and around her neck. On a human, the ensemble would undoubtedly have been beautiful--but Demona was more like a wolf than a woman. She was covered (Ford assumed entirely) in fur, in different shades of purple and gray. Sharp fangs glinted every time she spoke, and her large ears were constantly in motion. 

She looked very, very unusual. But, then again, everyone here did. Ford’s eyes wandered across the party again, and he wished he had been allowed to bring a pen and paper so he could sketch some of the guests.

“Look,” Demona began with a sigh. “I know you’re equal parts paranoid and curious, but you’re making it very obvious.”

“Making what obvious?” Ford asked, turning to look at her again.

“How new you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“The gawking--it’s like a neon light that says, ‘I’m not from around here! I haven’t seen anything like this before! I don’t belong at a fancy party!’”

Ford frowned.

“Well, none of that is exactly wrong,” he mumbled.

“But we don’t want any of  _them_  to know that,” Demona said, gesturing to the other guests. “And it’s something you can spot in three seconds--I mean,” she paused, scanning the party. “Just look at that guy--the one with the big pearly eyes and the feathers--he’s doing the same thing you are: gawking. I’d bet my necklace that he just got here yesterday.”

“What do you mean, ‘just got here’?” Ford asked.

“I mean he’s not from here--he hasn’t been here long.”

“So, what? He’s from out of town?”

“You know, for a doctor you sure are stupid,” Demona said.

Ford opened his mouth to protest, but Demona continued on.

“Nobody’s  _from_  here--except for maybe a few sorry souls whose ancestry traces back to the dawn of time. This dimension is a black hole. Everybody is pulled in, one way or another.” She let out a little laugh. “I met somebody once who was just out taking a walk, and all of a sudden here they were.  _Poof._  They went from sunshine and rainbows to...this.” She waved her arm out over the darkness behind them. 

Ford turned and looked up at the sky. It wasn’t like a night sky back home--it was darker, more menacing somehow. He could see a few stars, but mostly he just saw dark and hazy swirls of color.

“So, how did you get here?” he asked, looking back at Demona.

She sighed.

“I was reading,” she said. “Then, all of a sudden, the floor opened up beneath me. I fell and landed--hard--in a tiny village. I looked up at the sky and saw a little pinprick of light...and then it closed up. That was the last I saw of home.”

She stared out at the sky, and Ford watched her. He wondered if she was telling the truth--he thought that, by the look in her eyes, she was.

“Long story short,” she continued, “I figured out that the only way I’d be able to survive here was to steal what I needed. I started off small then got more adventurous--there’s not much by way of law enforcement around here. Eventually I met Eleazar, we got a shop, started our own crew... The rest is history.” She turned to look at him. “How about you?”

Ford swallowed hard. He turned and looked up at the sky. He could see a few more stars now. 

“I was a scientist back home--not a doctor. I’d been working on a project, but it...got too deep. The machine--the machine that  _I built_  to bring answers brought...” he paused, swallowed hard. He shook his head at the darkness. “I was pulled into this place by my own two hands.” Ford looked down at his twelve fingers and felt his chest tighten. His eyes stung. “I just want to go home.”

“I hate to break it to you, Doc,” Demona began softly, “but this is home now. Like I said, this place is a black hole--it sucks things in, but nothing ever gets out.”

Ford turned to look at her, and for the first time he saw something in her eyes that he recognized.

_Regret._

But then her ears twitched and the look was gone, replaced with dark focus. She turned to face the party and scanned the crowd.

“Showtime,” she said.

“What are we doing?” Ford asked. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

“Do you see that girl with the pink skin and the white hair?”

Ford’s eyes darted around the party--it didn’t take long to spot her. However, Demona had neglected to mention the pair of translucent wings sprouting from the girl’s back.

“Yeah, I see her,” Ford said. He looked back at Demona.

She had pulled out a needle and a gun.

“We’re gonna kidnap her,” she said, flashing Ford a smile.

He felt the blood drain from his face. But before he could respond, Demona had stepped forward, back into the sea of people, raised her gun into the air, and fired three times.

The party erupted in panic, and Ford--not knowing what else to do--followed after her. By the time he’d caught up with Demona, the pink girl was unconscious in her arms, and they were walking out the door. 


	6. One of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford gets to know their kidnapped guest and struggles with his memories of the past.

 

> _One of us is crying,_  
>  _One of us is lying_  
>  _In her lonely bed,_  
>  _Staring at the ceiling,_  
>  _Wishing she was somewhere else instead._

Ford raced onto the cargo bay of the  _Adstrum_ , close behind Demona. Shouts echoed behind them, and he briefly wondered when, exactly, the ship had landed outside the party. 

“Take ‘er away!” Demona shouted. 

The door began to close behind them at the same time the ship rose into the air. Ford watched as tiny figures rushed out of the building, shouting and shaking whatever limbs they had. A few bolts of blue light shot past the ship, and Ford stepped back just as the door closed. He turned to Demona, who had deposited their new guest on the floor and was now wrapping rope around her wrists.

“What--” Ford began, his voice shaking, “--was that?”

“That was a Class A kidnapping! Congratulations, Doc,” Demona replied, flashing him a grin.

"Congratulations?” he cried. “ _Congratulations_?”

“Shh,” Demona said as she stood up. “You’ll wake the baby.”

Ford stared down at the girl--her white hair was splayed out on the floor and partially covering her pink face. The translucent wings sprouting out her back--just between her shoulder blades--were crinkled. He wondered if she was breathing.

It was only then that he registered his own breathing--fast and shallow. His heartbeat felt the same. He looked down at his hands and saw that they were shaking, the same way his voice shook when he spoke. He had been jumpy enough before getting pulled into this weird, lawless dimension--he didn’t need a life of crime to add to that.

“Demona, this is wrong--”

“This is  _reality_ , Doc. Maybe not reality where  _you_  came from, but it’s reality  _here_. You do what you have to do to survive. For us, that includes kidnapping. This little lady comes at a pretty high price.”

“And what, exactly, do you propose to do with her?” Ford’s words came through gritted teeth, and he clenched and unclenched his fists. 

“Relax,” Demona said, “she’s just ransom. She’s got a mate who’ll pay a lot of money to get her back.”

“Just ransom?  _Just ransom_?” Ford’s voice rose again, and he felt the sudden urge to punch Demona right in the face. He’d never been good at boxing and knew it probably wouldn’t end well, but if he were Stanley--

“Do you do that a lot? The whole, ‘repeating things in a higher pitch and louder tone’ thing?” she asked, squinting at him. A hint of a smile played in her eyes.

It took everything Ford had not to deck her.

“Take her to bay three--make sure she’s tied up tight. We don’t need her loose on deck. She’d probably be in more danger wandering around than locked in one place,” Demona added and gave Ford a pointed look, as if she knew what he was thinking.

And she was right, he knew. 

Demona turned and headed towards some of the crew members who had gathered at the other end of the bay.

“Also, make sure she doesn’t choke on her own vomit--she’s no good to us dead!” she called over her shoulder.

Ford stared down at the pink girl. He sighed. He didn’t have any other options. There was no way to get her out of here safely--at least, not a way that didn’t end in his own untimely demise...

Gently, he picked the girl up off the floor and hoped that someone else would save her.

* * *

 

Ford was generally very good at following orders--at school, at home--problems only arose when the orders were morally wrong or there was a smarter or more interesting solution than that which the orders led to. He remembered getting scolded by his chemistry professor once for switching up chemicals to make a more interesting reaction. He remembered his father’s angry words when he refused to seek revenge on the children who teased him.

(The next day Stanley had come home with a black eye and a bloody nose, but he gave Ford a toothy grin and simply said, “You should see the other guys!”)

Ford hadn’t followed orders for a long time. There had been no one to supervise his research. He had been the one giving orders--until Fiddleford left, anyway. Then there was no one to order and no one to give orders. Just him and the whispers in the walls...

So following Demona’s orders was, for a number of reasons, difficult. But he’d already gone through all the calculations and scenarios, and there were no alternate options with a better ending. He did, however, ignore some of Demona’s commands. He did not tie the girl to any of the chairs in bay three. Instead, he found the softest things in the room and made a little bed for her. He rolled her onto her side, just in case things got messy, and he covered her with a blanket. 

Then, he sat back and waited. 

It was hours before the girl stirred--hours of watching her and wishing he had a sketchbook, hours of recounting his childhood, hours of staring at his old photograph and wondering what Stanley would do in this situation...

_Probably punch his way out._

“Ugh,” the girl grunted and Ford quickly put the photograph away. Her eyes fluttered open--they were purple and sparkled like amethyst. “Who are you?” she asked.

“My name is Ford--I’m the doctor on this ship.”

“Ship?” the girl squinted at him. “Where am I? What happened?” She jerked, as if to sit up, but her eyes suddenly rolled back into her head.

Ford jumped up and caught her just before her head cracked against the metal floor.

“Careful,” he began, “I’m not sure the effects of the drugs have completely worn off yet.”

“Drugs...?” the girl’s voice was no more than a tired whisper now. 

Ford placed her back on the makeshift bed and sighed.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, then paused. The words caught in his throat. “But you’ve been kidnapped. You’re being held for ransom.”

“Oh...” she said. Her eyes were closed now, and Ford wondered if she was still conscious. “What is the price?”

“Uh--I don’t know...”

“Mm... And if the ransom...does not come through?”

“I don’t know about that, either,” Ford said. He stared at the girl for a moment, wondering... “Have you been kidnapped before?”

“It is not...an unusual...occurrence here,” she replied. Her breathing was heavier now. She was falling back asleep. “I will be...very hungry...when I wake...” she continued.

“Oh, yes--I’ll see about getting you some food, then,” Ford said. He pulled the blankets up over her. 

She didn’t move, and her breaths came in a steady rhythm. 

“I hope you like stew,” he mumbled, then stood and headed towards the kitchen, being sure to lock the door behind him.

* * *

 

“How did it go?” Zarephath asked as soon as Ford entered the room. She was frying something, and a large pot was boiling on the stove beside her.

“Well, I suppose that depends on who you ask,” Ford replied. He sat down on the stool in front of the counter. He stared at Zarephath’s back, waiting for her to turn to him.

“I asked you,” she said. “So how did it go?”

“The party was nice--I didn’t get to try any food, and Demona isn’t the most amiable of companions, but there were a lot of interesting things to see,” he paused and took a deep breath. “Alsowekidnappedsomeone,” he blurted out then flinched, expecting another outburst.

Zarephath stood still. Ford watched her. There was a moment of silence, and she let out a slow, deep breath.

“Who?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know her name--but she’s got pink skin, white hair, and wings. I wonder if they’re functional, or if they’re just for show... Mating tactic, perhaps--”

“How old?” Zarephath’s voice was soft, but there was a sharp edge to it.

“I don’t know that either,” Ford said. “Her face looks young, but I have no idea how her species ages--”

“She is a Papilia--describe the wings to me.”

“Translucent--shimmery. They seem white, but they catch the light and reflect different colors.”

“Then she has not yet grown her patterns. She is yet young. Hardly more than a child.” Zarephath shook her head and leaned against the counter in front of her. “A child... We have kidnapped a child...”

There was another moment of silence. Zarephath ran her hand over her face, which was still turned away from Ford, then sniffed. When she next spoke, her voice was thick.

“What do they plan to do with her?”

“Ransom. Demona said she had a mate or something--someone who would pay a lot to get her back.”

“Money--all about money. Did I not say that? Such wickedness--and for what? A few more coins in the purse!”

“I’m sorry, Zarephath,” Ford said. The words slipped out of his mouth. He meant them, but he hadn’t meant to  _say_  them.

She shook her head.

“I am sorry too, Ford,” she whispered. “I am sorry too.” 

Without another word, she ladled some of the liquid from the boiling pot into a bowl, then turned and handed it to Ford. She slipped a spoon into the stew and sighed, staring down at it. Her green eyes travelled up and locked with Ford’s--they shimmered in the light, and her cheeks were wet.

“Take good care of her, Doctor.”

* * *

 

Ford returned to bay three, soup in hand, and found the pink girl sitting up. Well, she was slumped over her knees--but still, it was more upright than when he had left her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, closing the door behind him. 

“My head hurts,” she mumbled. “But that is normal. I’m hungry.”

“I brought you food,” he said. He sat down in front of her and held out the bowl.

Her purple eyes--barely open--travelled from the soup to his face. The simple act looked exhausting.

“My hands are still tied,” she said.

Ford sighed.

“I’m not sure you’d be able to hold up the spoon even if they weren’t,” he muttered. He scooped up some of the soup and held it in front of her face. “It’s hot,” he said.

The girl let out a weak puff of air then opened her mouth. Ford remembered the days when he had fed Shermy--though back then he never thought he would be practicing to feed a kidnapped alien...

“You’re much too kind to be a kidnapper,” the girl said between bites.

“I appreciate the compliment,” Ford said, “but I’m not sure it’s true.”

“It is,” she said then paused to swallow. “I have met a few--none of them are ever this nice.” 

Her eyes fluttered closed, and Ford stared at her. She did look young, despite her white hair--perhaps she was even younger than him. And yet to live through so much...

Suddenly, he thought of Stanley. He thought of his words during their fight.

_“No, no. You don't understand what_ I've _been through! I've been to prison in three different countries! I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car! You think_ you've _got problems? I've got a_ mullet _, Stanford!”_

Stanley was young. And yet he’d lived through so much...

Ford scowled and shook his head. That didn’t excuse what he’d done--that didn’t absolve his guilt. After all, he  _had_  doomed Ford to an eternity of terror in this dimension--

“I’m still hungry,” the girl said suddenly.

Ford looked up at her. Her mouth was hanging open expectantly.

“Sorry--I got distracted,” he said, scooping up some more soup.

“I noticed,” she mumbled.

“What’s your name?” Ford asked.

“Gloria,” she said.

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“Thank you. I’ve forgotten yours.”

“Ford--Doctor Ford.”

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor. Pleased to meet you...” 

**Author's Note:**

> Writing from Bill's perspective was not quite as chaotic as I expected it to be--but he's not really being chaotic here, just angry and annoyed. However, because this is vaguely canon now (Bill hunting Ford across dimensions, I mean), I think I'll expand it more--from both Bill's and Ford's perspectives. We shall see...


End file.
